


I Norn a Bal

by SidheSeer



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Action, Changelings, Courtless Fae, Drama, Expect a lot of general European/UK Fae folklore blended together, F/M, Fae Folklore, Faeries - Freeform, Fantasy, Fluff, Goblins, I've got a rough idea of where this is going, Probably no smut for now but we shall see, Romance, Sarah is the babe with the power, Seelie Court, Sexy Fluff, Shadow Court, Tir-Nan-Og, Tuatha Dé Danann, Underground, Unseelie Court, also the Fae speak Sindarin because I am not making my own language for a fanfic, dark!Jareth, goblin king - freeform, magick, so it will be dark and as accurate as I can be to the actual lore, this ain't your average Tinkerbell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheSeer/pseuds/SidheSeer
Summary: The Twisted and DivineThirteen hours, thirteen years, and an adventure all but written off as a mere juvenile dream. It was the product of an overactive imagination and probably too much sugar before bed. Nothing more. There was no place for faeries and kings in the life of twenty-eight year old Sarah Williams, at least not outside the realm of children’s books. Now an accomplished illustrator living in Amesbury, Massachusetts, Sarah had firmly cast aside her time in the Labyrinth and was content with moving on with her life. But when past mistakes and unfinished business with a bitter king spur unlikely encounters, Sarah finds herself dragged into the Underground yet again. The once enchanting realm of faeries is now fraught with political conflict and struggles for power. It is a world on the brink of a war that threatens to spill into mortal lands and Sarah is now an unwilling instrument in the chaos.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's been well over half a year since I've touched this account. Yikes. But new year, new me, right? And why not start this year off with a fic inspired by a cult classic? Sounds good to me. And perfect timing too, as I am posting this on the Goblin King's birthday.
> 
> I've been a fan of Labyrinth since I was fifteen (coincidentally Sarah's age) and it's one of those fandoms that has always stuck by me. There is simply something timeless and enchanting about it, which is likely why it is considered a cult classic. But one of my favorite aspects of the film has always been the traditional faerie folklore that Brian Froud incorporated with Jim Henson in its conception. That is an element I desire to heavily carry over into this story.
> 
> So if ancient laws, fantastical power struggles, and monstrous creatures that come to steal your children in the night sound appealing, then read on. Oh, and glitter. Lots of glitter. But I think we would all expect nothing less of our Goblin King.
> 
> P.S. - This is merely the prologue, so it is on the shorter side than I intend the actual chapters to be. Also, I don't plan to have an update schedule unless I really get on a role of writing chapters in advance.

_"Now is the winter of our discontent..." -_ William Shakespeare

* * *

“Blast this frost!”

A gruff voice split the bitter silence that permeated the open air, its only accompaniment being the sharp howl of wind that swept past stone walls. All around a thick layer of ice encased the once sandy terrain of the Underground. It suffocated all living things below and forced them to slumber. The crooked trees that dotted the hillside reflected the afternoon sun that managed to peek through the overcast atmosphere. What once sparkled with the glitter of pure magick now glistened under an incessant frost. All but the wind seemed to be sleeping, or rather holding a communal breath. No fairies fluttered about or eye moss peered from cracks in the maze walls. Not another soul was to be seen, aside from a small figure making his way down the precarious frozen dunes. It would be madness for one to willingly be out in such frigid temperatures, or at least the dictation of madness. Such was the case for the old dwarf as he stumbled over the slippery earth. His worn leather boots provided little warmth and traction, thus resulting in his third fall within the last ten minutes. With a frustrated growl he haphazardly scrambled from the ground, taking a moment to regain his footing before rubbing at his now numb behind.

“ _Defrost the gate, Haggle.”_ The dwarf spoke to no one in particular, his tone mocking and pretentious. He spat at the frozen earth with an indignant huff. “Th’ rat won’t bother ta get me name right, but old Hoggle still has ta clean up _his_ mess.”

Exactly how long has the Labyrinth been overtaken by winter’s chill? Hoggle had lost track after the first couple decades, though he could hazard a guess it had been at least fifty years now. Over half a century of snow and ice encasing the land, its formerly warm, albeit somewhat dusty, climate all but forgotten.

_Ever since...Well, musta been ‘bout thirteen years fer her._

Did she still look the same? All legs and rosy cheeks with that childish spark in her eyes? After all, time did work a bit differently Aboveground. He knew that much, despite having only visited a handful of times. Not much had changed for him, but he was Fae, a dwarf, and fifty years was gone in the blink of an eye with little to show for it. Perhaps another wrinkle here or there and he had certainly added to his jewel collection in the meantime, but not much else. However did mortals wear differently from the passing of time? It seemed unlikely Hoggle would ever find the answer, considering His Royal Rat-ass had banned any inhabitants of the Labyrinth from visiting the mortal realm shortly after his defeat. There had not even been a chance for him to say goodbye or explain the tantrum a certain king was throwing. Not long after the snow came. At first it was merely a dusting over the many winding walls and castle spires.

“Now th’ bloody ice is out fer me nose.” Hoggle rubbed at his bulbous snout, a futile attempt to restore the feeling.

There was no use dwelling on the bitter cold; knowing the King there was little hope it would ever lighten up. The dwarf cast a disdainful glance in the general direction of the castle, obscured behind the Labyrinth’s outer walls. Even the ever optimistic old knight had been unable to quell the King’s rage, leaving the Labyrinth’s inhabitants resigned to their frosty fate.

“Well, th’ door ain’t gonna melt itself.”

With another grunt, the old dwarf fumbled around his belt to untie a rather peculiar addition to its many bits and bobbles for the task at hand. In his grasp was a spindly appendage covered in fur of varying warm hues that was unnaturally heated to the touch. The limb was still for but a moment before lashing out. Fingers scrambled to claw at Hoggle’s face with vicious talons and maked the occasional rude gesture as well. It had been quite a hassle to pluck an arm from the Fierys inhabiting the Labyrinth’s forest and he had every intention of voicing his struggle to the King later. But the deviant elemental’s fire magick was one of the only forces capable of melting the enchanted ice. He would return the limb once his job was done and hopefully not get another singed jerkin in return. The hand twitched in his grip as if in protest to being used, but Hoggle merely directed its claws to the great door’s seam. With sparks flying and a sharp hiss the ice sealing the stone slowly melted away enough that, with a bit of muscle, a mortal should be able to part them and enter the maze. Job now complete, the Labyrinth could at least attempt to get back to its regular activity.

Though the King seemed to be in a perpetual tantrum with no end in sight, there was still work to be done and babies to be taken. His challenge may have been conquered once, but that did not stop other foolish children or ignorant parents from uttering the _right words_. Just a few moments ago an overworked single mother had wished her newborn away, though not out of spite as most often did. It had been a desperate plea for her child to have a better life, one that she did not think would be answered, least of all by the Fae. But that was the nature of faeries, they listened when it was convenient for them and twisted words into their favor. By now the goblins should have swept the poor babe away to hoard within the confines of the castle. Which meant Hoggle ought to hurry if he meant to catch the rat before it scampered off. With his task aside, the dwarf made two hard thumps with his boot on the ice beneath him, careful not to lose his balance once more. The ground cracked open like a fissure in response, wide enough that his stout figure was able to drop through into the dark abyss below before sealing up once more.

It was an unpleasant descent through an earthy portal. Roots tugged at Hoggle’s clothes and dirt sprayed into his face, but at least it was quick and convenient. Anything to get him out of the cold a bit faster and lessen his chance of falling on the ice once more. With another crack the dwarf was spat out to the surface, though no longer out in the elements. Frost and earth was traded for chilled marble and the relentless wind was subdued by heavy stone walls encompassing the Goblin King's study. The castle was easily Hoggle’s least favorite place in the many expanses of the Labyrinth. And considering the maze held the Bog of Eternal Stench, that was no easy feat. But with the King’s attitude as of late the idea of smelling worse than death indefinitely was becoming more appealing by the day.

_What’s that sayin’ them mortals ‘ave? “Speak o’ th’ devil, ‘n he shall appear?”_

As if on cue, the intricately carved wooden doors to the grand room opened, groaning in protest with age. Footsteps echoed off the walls, light, yet measured in their pace as they drew ever nearer to where Hoggle now cowered. A pair of immaculately clean black leather boots fell into his line of sight before where the portal sprawled him across the stone floor. For a moment he dared not look up, despite that it would be inevitable. If the Goblin King scared the dwarf fifty years ago, then consider himself utterly petrified with the monstrous Fae that stood before him now. The toe of one boot began to rap on the ground with impatience. Was it too late for him to turn tail and run?

“I recall ordering you to defrost the main gate, Hogwart. Not track your filth across my castle floors.”

Hoggle swallowed hard, attempting to suppress a whimper as he struggled to his feet. The King’s sharp tone bit harder than the frost and the underlying threat to his words sent an otherworldly chill down the dwarf’s spine. Instinctively his grubby fingers went to the plastic bracelet that hung loosely around his right wrist to fumble with the weathered beads, practically curling in on himself in the process. The little trinket had become something of a security blanket for him. A few beads bore cracks and all had lost their original gleam, but he still considered it his most prized possession and sole reminder of _her_. Now he clung to that bracelet like a lifeline, as if she might be summoned if he wished hard enough. The dwarf could practically hear her impetuous voice telling the rat off for being a bully to his subjects. But the reality was it was merely him versus the Goblin King in his dimly lit study.

“Yer Majesty...I-I jus’ came ta tell ya th’ job’s done. T-thought I should see ya off ‘n all.” With an awkward shuffle of his feet, Hoggle fixed his gaze to the boots still standing before him. They were intimidating in their own right; the way the gauzy fabric of the cape above billowed about them in a unnatural wind. He could see his own terrified reflection in their polished surface; his eyes were wide beneath bushy brows and his lower lip trembled. Clearing his throat, Hoggle continued in order to break the threatening silence,

“Are...are ya really gonna make ‘er run th’ Labyrinth, yer Majesty…? I-I know it be th’ law ‘n all, but not ev’n a lil’ mercy fer ‘er?”

His voice sounded timid and hardly more than a whisper to his own abnormally large ears, but he was sure the Fae heard him. There was a rustle of fabric and Hoggle squeezed his eyes shut to brace for a kick, only to open them once more when the quiet fall of boots passed him by for the balcony. Slowly, he dared to glance up and recoiled at the sight of the full Goblin King regalia. Even with his back to him, the ensemble was no less menacing. Perhaps the cold was simply getting to the old dwarf’s head, but the armor looked impossibly sharper, the metal’s black hue somehow deeper. A fur mantle now draped his shoulders to fend off the cold and only added to his more animalistic appearance.

What stood before Hoggle was more goblin than king and the surrounding room was barely capable of containing his presence. Despite the cathedral ceiling of the King’s study, the room felt as crowded as a closet. The dim light from the sconces and crackling hearth cast ghastly shadows about the room and glinted off the harsh angles of the King’s armor. Papers fluttered across the large oak desk fixed in front of the fire, disturbed by the unearthly breeze that accompanied the King. Tapestries lining the stone walls, their elaborate designs obscured in the dark, billowed in turn. Even the luscious jewel toned fabrics that lined the various furniture cushions and pillows about the room seemed to dull. It was as if the castle itself cowered before its volatile ruler.

“What’s said is said, you should know that.” His words were clipped, and painfully familiar as they drifted out into the open air of the Labyrinth beyond the balcony, “She will run the Labyrinth as the law dictates and when she inevitably fails to reach the castle in time, well, then she shall return to the surface alone and live with the consequences.”

“‘Ssumin’ she makes it out alive…” Hoggle muttered under his breath, but received only a chilling laugh in reply. The dwarf felt sick and more than a little guilty that another poor soul would fall victim to the King’s wrath.

“Such is our way, is it not, Hogbrain? Such is our way…” With that the Goblin King vanished, no doubt to the Aboveground to scare the living hell out of his next victim, leaving nothing more than a shimmer upon the marble floor in his wake. Cautiously, Hoggle hobbled over to where the King once stood as if he might reappear at any moment. Frost glinted up at him from the marble floor, reflecting the light of the blazing hearth, nothing more. A sigh of relief passed his weathered lips, certain he lost another few decades from his life with that encounter.

“ _And do take care of that ice before you go, dwarf.”_ Hoggle practically jumped out of skin as the King’s voice echoed around the stone walls, laughter trailing after his words before fading away. This could not be good for his heart, he mused as he rubbed a hand over his chest to quell its pounding. Working under a royally pissed Goblin King would be the death of him.

Yanking the enchanted limb from his belt, Hoggle quickly got to work cleaning up after the rat’s dramatic exit. He did not even have the courage to mutter his grievances under his breath, lest the King was still somehow listening. The sooner he got out of the castle, the sooner he could relax and his pulse could resume a normal pace. Perhaps he would pay Ludo a visit. The troll was not much for company, but at least his fur was warm to sit beside.

_Anythin’ ‘s better than here, tha’s fer damn sure._


	2. Pixie Cuts

_ “Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”  _ \- Rumi

* * *

Autumn was one of the many reasons Sarah Williams opted to move to New England, specifically Massachusetts, five years ago. After attending graduate school at Lesley University in Cambridge she decided she never wanted to leave. Now at the age of twenty-eight, she still could not imagine living anywhere else. There was simply something enchanting about the season in the Bay State that her hometown of New York could not hold a candle to. Perhaps it was the way the many rolling hills and mountains were set aflame with vibrant foliage to paint the landscape in breathtaking hues or how the air carried an unidentifiable crispness to it, tinged with an earthy fragrance as nature settled in for winter. Or it could just be the surplus of pumpkin spice. Call her a cliche, but there was something distinctly fall about the festive aroma that left her addicted like the rest of the population. Although, Sarah could pass on the pumpkin spice deodorant. That was a bit much, even for her. Oddly scented seasonal products aside, though, autumn was the time of year that she truly felt the most alive, as if the shifting climate was changing her in turn.

However, it was one such afternoon in late October that Sarah found herself in a most peculiar predicament, or at least it was unusual for her. She was hesitating.

“You don’t have to go through with this, you know that, right?” Jessica Marebrook, Sarah’s best friend, roommate of three years, and often her voice of reason spoke up behind her. She did not have to see her expression to know Sarah was having second thoughts.  “I know you’ve been talking about it for weeks. Hell, you’ve been threatening it for years now, but that doesn’t mean you actually  _ have  _ to do it.”

“ _ No _ , no...It’s fine. Not like it’ll be forever. After all, hair does grow back eventually.”

Steeling her confidence, Sarah tightened her unsteady grip on the handle to one of Amesbury’s local salons,  _ Metamorph _ , and marched into the well lit parlor. A soft bell rang as the door was opened, alerting all of the inhabitants to their arrival. The shop was relatively slow as it was getting along in the afternoon. Customers were scattered about here and there waiting for their appointment or getting a trim in front of the various stylists’ stations. A pungent odor of chemicals and bleach permeated the air causing Jessica to wrinkle her nose with displeasure. But the vintage-inspired interior gave the small shop a rather charming appeal.

“You must be our three o’ clock. Sarah Williams, yes?”

Withdrawing her gaze from peering about the salon, Sarah turned to the receptionist at the small counter to the left of the entrance. She was a pretty young thing, not much older than Sarah herself, with a sweet smile and, naturally, stunning locks. Perfect auburn curls framed her face and cascaded down to her waist with an almost otherworldly beauty. Suddenly self conscious of her own tresses, Sarah nervously twirled a limp lock of her mousy brown hair which was gathered in a low ponytail that fell nearly to her rear. If she could get her long hair to look as impeccable as this receptionist’s, then perhaps she would not be going through with this appointment. But Sarah knew she hardly had the time or energy to maintain the hair she currently had, much less perfect it. She needed a more manageable look. More importantly she needed a change. 

“That’s me.” Sarah did her best to hide her nerves as she gave an awkward wave as greeting.

“Lovely. Take a seat at the second station and Luke will be with you in just a moment. Your friend can feel free to pull up a chair if she’d like.” The receptionist gestured further into the shop, giving them both a pleasant smile before returning to organizing the appointment log.

Jessica nudged Sarah forward until she remembered how to walk. This was going to be a big change and while her mind was made up, her body seemed reluctant. Sarah plopped down in the salon chair, crossing her legs uncomfortably as she situated herself on the plush faux leather cushion. Jessica dragged a chair from the waiting area over, stradling the seat before eyeing her friend somewhat imploringly. 

“Are you s-”

“For the last time, Jess, yes. I am sure. No regrets.” A long winded sigh passed her lips, perturbed by the endless questioning of her roommate. One more time and Jessica would have her scampering out of the salon like a bat out of hell.

“Just double checking. You know I’m just looking out for you.”

“I think we’re past double checking. What comes after quadruple?” Jessica snorted at her halfhearted retort. Turning back to the mirror above the stylist’s vanity Sarah studied her reflection. This was the last she would see it the same way for some time, so she may as well commit it to memory. Curtains of brown blanketed either side of her face, obscuring her relatively high cheekbones and drawing attention away from her evergreen eyes. She looked too plain, too much like some generic librarian from a kid’s sitcom and not like the accomplished illustrator she had fought tooth and nail to become. Her hair was like a shield, leaving her guarded, but from what she could not quite put to words. Or perhaps she simply did not want to find the  _ right words _ . Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, shaking herself from her musings. 

“I need this, Jess, I really do. This curtain has been with me since I was a kid and it needs to go.”

Jessica shrugged, her gaze shifting to the mirror as well to tousle her sleek blonde hair with a content smile. At least someone was pleased with her appearance. Before Sarah could poke fun at her roommate’s preening, a young man dressed in a black button down and matching slim fit pants made his way over to where she was seated. A burgundy half apron was tied around his waist with various combs and clips tucked into the pockets sewn to the front. Luke, Sarah presumed, grinned at her reflection in the mirror from where he now stood behind her, his pearly white teeth contrasting beautifully with his flawless mocha complexion. Was it a requirement for every employee at this salon to be unnaturally stunning? She yanked the elastic from around her hair and slipped it onto her wrist before she could give much more thought to her apparent genetic inferiority.

“How are you this fine afternoon, Sarah? I’m Luke.” He held out his hand for her to shake, which she did with a sheepish greeting. His chipper attitude and dazzling appearance left her somewhat breathless. With a warm smile he began to run nimble fingers through her hair, shaking out the previously bound mass to fall across the back of the chair. “Looks like you have a lot to work with, how exciting! So, what are you thinking of for a cut? Just a trim or perhaps something a bit more dramatic?”

Gingerly, Luke lifted the bits of hair that framed her face to where the ends brushed a few inches past her shoulders. It was certainly a difference from her present look, but it was not enough. Gritting her teeth, Sarah shook her head.

“Nope, I want it all off.” There was a pregnant pause after her words where Luke merely blinked at her, eyes wide with surprise. Sarah was quick to clarify, “W-well, you know, not  _ all _ of it. Don’t buzz it all, please, just...I don’t know-”

“A pixie cut?” An unpleasant chill ran down Sarah’s spine at the term while Luke gathered up strands once more to test the length around her features.

_ It’s just a haircut, Sarah, you’re being paranoid. _

“Yeah, one of those, if you think it would look good that is.” Luke hummed, deep in thought as he positioned her hair this way and that to get a better visual. After a moment he grinned once more and let her tresses fall.

“I think you’d look absolutely stunning. We’ll give you some fun layers and fringe, make it really playful and easier to tame. It’ll be a whole new you.” His enthusiasm was contagious, drawing a smile to Sarah’s lips as she nodded her approval. Jessica remained quiet in her chair to observe. She still had her reservations about the change, but the excited spark in her friend’s eyes helped to reassure her that this would be liberating for Sarah.

“Alright, let’s get you over to the sink, wash you up, and make that big cut.” Luke slipped a salon cape over her person, snapping the nylon fabric in place before guiding Sarah to the seats by the sinks. As he began wet down and shampoo her hair Sarah found herself relaxing, her nerves easing as he massaged her scalp. Luke bantered about mundane matters like the unusually temperamental weather they had been having lately and inquired about her work to pass the time. Sarah also brought up the opportunity to donate her hair to charity seeing as it was healthy and of a considerable length. Apparently  _ Metamorph _ had a program in place for just such dramatic cuts and assured her it could be done. The thought that some good could also be brought by this change further reassured Sarah she was making the right decision.

Once clean, Luke wrapped her hair up in a towel and led her back to his station. He thoroughly combed through the length of her hair to remove any tangles before gathering it in a ponytail a couple inches past the base at the back of her neck. He took a moment to peruse the tools on his vanity, then plucked a pair of silver shears from their holder among the other scissors and razors.

“Ready, Sarah?” Not trusting her voice, she nodded and curled her fingers into the armrests of the chair as she screwed her eyes shut.

_ Snip...Snip snip. _

_ Maybe I’ll just keep my eyes shut the whole time… _ Sarah took a deep breath and relaxed into her seat, leaving her head to the mercy of Luke. Beside her Jessica snorted at her dramatics. 

Time passed slowly, measured by each slice of the shears and buzz of the razor, but still Sarah refused to look. Her mind wandered to distract her, pondering her plans for the remainder of the day and the workload she had waiting for her at home. She was running a bit behind on illustrations for her next children’s book and her editor was hounding her incessantly about them. Did he not understand that art was a creative flow and sometimes that flow was disrupted by life, such as drastic haircuts? Apparently not since she could feel her phone buzzing in her back pocket. At least now she had the time to plan and mentally prepare for all the paintings she had to finish. She still needed to sketch the climax and thereafter of her latest story, one about a nature princess and her battle against the personifications of environmental destruction. It was a somewhat heavy topic, but her whimsical watercolor illustrations made the subject easier for a child to digest, while also being educational to please parents. She still needed to determine if the “final boss” for her princess, humanity, would be realistically human in appearance or more fantastical.

“...rah...Sarah?”

There was a painful pinch to her arm beneath her gray cardigan. Sarah flinched and turned to the offender, Jessica of course, who rolled her eyes. Had she dozed off while Luke worked? Speaking of which,

“He’s done, sleepyhead.” Jessica inclined her head to the mirror, implying that she should finally give it a look.

“O-oh, yeah.” With an unsteady laugh, Sarah braced herself and glanced at her reflection.

“Holy sh-....wow.” She caught herself before some less-than-friendly words slipped out. It was like looking at a stranger. Her face was the same, of course, but every feature seemed somehow different when framed with her new pixie cut. Her green eyes looked impossibly large and defined by the angled bangs dancing about them. Fringe curled around her cheekbones, complimenting them rather than obscuring them from view. Her dainty ears peaked out beneath the tousled layers atop her head, the sides now shaved into an edgy, yet respectable look. It was striking, almost surreal to see herself with hair that did not even reach the base of her neck. She knew the change would be considerable, but this was something else entirely.

“I...I love it. Really, this is  _ incredible _ .” Behind her Luke gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze. Pleased that she was more than satisfied with his work, he unsnapped the cape and dusted away any loose hairs that clung to her with a soft bristle brush. Meanwhile, Sarah was busy familiarizing herself with her newly chopped locks as Jessica voiced her approval and relief that Sarah was equally pleased.

“I never doubted it would look amazing, not for a minute. You could pull off anything, I swear.” Sarah deadpanned at her remark, distinctly remembering the dozens of “Are you sure?” comments she had received prior to the cut. But she was too happy with her new look to bother correcting Jess. She felt so much lighter, not just by the loss of physical weight in hair, but as if her soul itself felt lighter with the change. It really was a breath of fresh, autumn air.

“Be sure to grab some styling pomades and waxes before you go.” Luke indicated some of his favorite brands, ones he had used in her hair to finish and add texture. Jess grabbed a few off the displays for her while Sarah produced a crumpled twenty from her wallet for a tip. She thanked Luke thoroughly for his work, assuring him she would be back again when she needed a trim. The two young women made their way back to the receptionist, just as beautiful as hours before, but seemingly more pleasant when she saw how happy Sarah was. After paying for her haircut and scheduling a future appointment with Luke, Sarah and Jessica made their way back out into the chilly October twilight. 

“So, now that you look like a million bucks, what now? Seems a shame to go home so early. Bar hop? Clubbing? Movie premiere for the celebrity I now have as a roommate?” Sarah laughed and playfully bumped shoulders with her best friend. The two had been together since college, but Jessica never failed to make her flustered and feel like a queen with her flattery.

“How about a coffee? I know it’s late, but I’ll probably be pulling another all-nighter with the illustrations I have left to do.”

“Of course you are.” Jess laughed and shook her head at Sarah’s now habitual procrastination, “If your head wasn’t up in the clouds half the time you know this wouldn’t happen, right? I could give you pointers to stay on task.”

“Yeah I’ll pass, thanks.” As a freelance concept artist, Jess had to remain on task if she wanted to maintain her reputation and keep clientele coming. She was meticulous, almost obsessive, and it was all Sarah could do to keep her from installing her own military regime in their apartment. The daily chores list check every night was bad enough. 

“Knowing you, your  _ pointers, _ ” Sarah tossed up some air quotes as they leisurely walked down the sidewalk to the coffee shop a couple blocks away, “would involve strapping me to an electroshock machine that would zap me if I stopped painting.”

Jessica snorted, “Hey, whatever it takes, right? If I don’t do it, then I’m sure your editor will.”

Yikes, she had a point, as much as Sarah did not want to admit it. James, her editor in question, would be hounding her without end if she did not get her completed illustrations sent out tomorrow. It was going to be a long night, making this coffee stop all the more necessary. Thus she quickened her pace down the lamp-lit streets, Jessica trailing after her. The center of town in Amesbury was not exactly bustling with activity this near to the evening. It was quaint, lined with privately owned shops and restaurants. The streets were a bit more active with historical tours now that it was nearing Halloween and the height of tourist season for Essex County. But this was nothing compared to those towns closer to Salem, which was more than a half an hour away. Sarah was content with the subtle rise in festive fall activity and did not envy the chaos she knew would ensue in the town of the infamous witch trials over the next week.

“I’m thinking something with mocha, maybe? What about you Sarah?...Sarah?” When Jess received no response she waved a hand in front of Sarah’s eyes to stir her from her thoughts before she walked into the glass door of the coffee shop.

“Earth to Sarah? Hellooo? Anyone in there aside from dead flies and bits of dust?” With a huff, Sarah batted her obtrusive hand away.

“Just the usual.” She shrugged, eager to get inside the shop and out of the cold. Winter was already sinking its icy talons into her autumn evenings.

“I swear, pumpkin spice must flow through your veins by now.”

It was true, Sarah visited the cafe often enough for her “white girl fix” as Jessica called it that she was more or less a regular. 

 

_ Trinity Cafe _ was a cozy, locally owned coffee shop and bookstore. The interior always smelled of spices, espresso and fresh baked goods mixed with that comforting smell of weathered books. Towards the entrance was the cafe itself, boasting all sorts of unique, literary-inspired beverages and confections upon the chalkboard menus lining the wall behind the counter. The rest of the shop was taken up by pleasantly worn leather armchairs and loveseats, their cushions aged to a buttery soft finish. Bookshelves and haphazard towers of novels filled every nook and cranny, leaving the only open space just in front of the roaring fireplace and a small stage set in the back for events like poetry night or the occasional touring indie band passing through the town. It was a sort of safe haven for Sarah, warmly lit and always reasonably quiet. Whenever she needed some peace of mind she all but ran to here.

“Well, if it isn’t Jessica and, my, just who is this stranger?” The shop owner, Sean McCleary, teased from behind the counter as he organized a fresh tray of biscuits in the glass display case. Sarah knew the old Irishman recognized her; she was there more often than not, curled up in one of the chairs like a cat.

“I call it  _ Sarah two-point-oh.” _ She grinned, running a hand through her freshly chopped tresses. 

“The name is a bit lacking, but the look is quite fetching, lass.” Sean chuckled, his ruddy face lighting up at her flushed cheeks. Glancing over his shoulder he called out back towards the kitchen with a booming baritone, “Morgan, come take a gander at little Sarah’s new ‘do!”

_ Oh, jeez… _

Sarah flushed deeper as Sean called out to his son, Morgan McCleary. The young man was only a few years shy of her twenty-eight and was completely infatuated with her. It was a sort of puppy love one would not expect of someone in their twenties. While Sarah did find his affections endearing she was not exactly interested in dating, what with her busy schedule as an illustrator. Nevertheless, Sean was convinced he could set the two of them up.

“What was that, da’? What about Sarah?” There was a crash of dishes following the voice from behind the backdoor accompanied by some choice swear words. After a moment, a young brunette stumbled over himself out the door. He was dressed in a simple white t-shirt that sported more than a few stains and jeans. A towel was draped over one broad shoulder. He brushed his unruly hair from his hazel eyes to glance about until he spotted Sarah across the counter. Like some sort of cartoon, Morgan’s jaw dropped, earthy hued eyes wide as saucers and a faint crimson blush dappling his otherwise fair features. For a moment all he could do was stare until his father gave a firm, but playful slap to his back.

“S-Sarah you...uh, you look...wow.” His mouth continued to wordlessly open and close, at a loss. Sarah merely laughed and awkwardly tugged at her fringe. Old habits die hard.

“Yeah, she said the same thing, buddy.” Jessica spoke up in Sarah’s place, rolling her eyes at their innocence. “Sean can we get a Midsummer Night’s Mocha and-”

“A Salem’s Spiced Lot-te.” Sean finished for her, shaking his head in Sarah’s direction.

“You know it.” Morgan hurried to ring them out, still fumbling to get a hold of himself. Once the money was settled, Jessica dragged Sarah over to one of the loveseats by the hearth. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Jessica teased, her voice blessedly quiet as her gaze flickered from Sarah’s flushed cheeks to Morgan’s lingering glances as he helped with the drinks.

“Excuse me?” It was Sarah’s turn to snort at her ridiculous comment, as she pointedly looked away to the crackling fire beside them.

“You heard me,” Jessica gave her a pointed look, “He’s clearly head over heels for you. Almost literally. I mean, the poor soul practically wiped out just to see you.”

Sarah sighed, leaning back into the cushions that enveloped her like a chocolate marshmallow. Her dating life or lack thereof was one of Jessica’s favorite subjects to discuss, much to her dismay. Despite her insistence that she would rather focus on her career than romance, her roommate would not drop the matter.

“It’s not like that and you know it. Besides, I’d rather-”

“Focus on your career, yeah, you’re like a broken record.” Groaning, Jessica leaned back with her, “Reality is, though, you’re not getting any younger. Do you wanna become some old spinster living on the outskirts of town, scaring children and becoming a local legend?”

Sarah could not suppress at the ridiculous visual she painted. But if she were to be honest, the prospect was not all that unappealing.

“You’re one to talk, barely a year younger than me and single as a pringle.”

“Well, you know I don’t believe in all that marriage mumbo-jumbo.  _ You do _ , don’t deny it.” Jessica pinned her friend with another knowing stare, “I’ve seen those sketches, ya know? The poofy dress, the ballroom, and that blond dude with-”

“You-!” Sarah was about to cut her off when Morgan appeared beside them, tray of drinks in hand. He set the steaming ceramic mugs down on the coffee table before them with a sheepish smile. A little brow wiggle from Jess sent him running back to the kitchen. Safely alone once more, Sarah gritted her teeth and fixed Jessica with an irritated look.

“You went into my room again, huh?” She was not even trying to contain her annoyance as it tainted her tone to an almost childish whine. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“It was  _ chaos _ , your desk was in shambles. I just passed by, the door was open, and I couldn’t resist.” Sarah really ought to be more aware of her surroundings; she had hardly paid any mind to her miraculously clean work space, “So I organized it for you like the true friend that I am and, well, they were buried in a crumpled heap.”

Steam billowed into her eyes as Sarah brought her pumpkin spiced latte up to her lips. The scorching liquid burned her tongue deliciously and helped to soothe her perturbation.

“My point is,” Jessica continued, blowing on her own mocha latte before taking a small sip, “You’re a romantic, it’s clear as day. But you’re letting your most romantic years pass you by. You need  _ passion _ , Sarah,  _ adventure _ , a...I don’t know, a heated romantic tryst.  _ Something _ or you’re going to waste away and a spinster really will be your future.” 

_ I’ve had enough of adventure, thank you. _ Sarah thought, shaking her head. Her childhood fantasies had satisfied her for several lifetimes over. That dream...it was too real. She knew it never happened, such fantastical things were impossible, but there was an underlying truth to it all: romance and adventure were not the heart pounding excitement they were often cracked up to be.

“Don’t you have more important things to worry about than my love life, Jess? Honestly, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the dedication to my hopeless cause, but let me take things at my own pace.” Sarah set her mug down, already half drained of its spiced contents.

“Suit yourself, spinster.” Jessica teased with a shrug before starting as if she suddenly remembered something, “But you’re right, we do have a more pressing matter to discuss: Halloween.”

Sarah arched a brow in bemusement, “What about it?”

“I was thinking this year we could go to Salem, you know? Drink in the chaos, and lots of alcohol, too.”

“Uh, why?” The idea was not exactly appealing to Sarah, despite her roommate’s enthusiasm. “Why would you willingly welcome that headache into your life? Besides, we’re almost thirty. Isn’t that a little old too be celebrating Halloween?”

“Age is but a number, my dear child,” Jess admonished her in a dramatic, motherly tone, “and I believe we are still young enough to have fun...even though you are always determined to suck the joy out everything.”

“I do not!” She took a bit of offense to that. Sarah knew how to have fun. What was more fun than sitting down with a good book at  _ Trinity _ or a long drive to view the foliage?

_ Well...that doesn’t exactly sound all that exciting now that I think about it. _

“You do and your nonexistent social life attests to it.” Clapping her hands together, Jessica took on a determined glint in her eye, “Which is why I think having a little adventure in Salem during the hellish season will be good for you.”

“I don’t know, I have so much work and illustrations, laundry…” Her excuses trailed off as she muffled her words behind her latte mug, taking another long sip.

“Come on, Sarah, it’ll be fun.” Jessica squealed, clinging to Sarah’s arm with pleading eyes, “We can drink our livers away, buy shit we don’t need, and maybe hook up with some freaks in masks or something, I dunno.”

Sarah choked on her latte, the milk spraying unceremoniously from her mouth to decorate the coffee table as she sputtered for air. 

“W-what?! Are you insane, Jess?”

“Well, if Morgan isn’t good enough for you, then you might as well peruse other options, right? Besides, I figured that was your kink since that blondie you painted had that mask-”

“Enough!” Holding up a hand, Sarah silenced her before she could continue. She set her mug down with a suddenly unsteady hand and reached for a few napkins from their holder on the table to wipe up her mess. With a groan, she chose her words carefully, already regretting them before they left her lips.

“If it will get you to shut up about those childish doodles and my personal life, then I’ll go.”

“Deal!” Jess left no room for argument as she almost tackled Sarah back into the cushions with a hug, “It’s gonna be great. Promise. We’ll get cute coordinating costumes and everything!”

Sarah felt as though her eyes would roll right out of her head at this rate.

 

After finishing their drinks and saying their goodbyes to Sean and a still flustered Morgan, Sarah and Jessica headed back to their apartment. It was a rather small two bedroom house, but neither needed that much space. Like most first apartments there was little cohesion in the decorating, but enough pillows and blankets kept the place feeling at least somewhat homey. It was Jess’s night to cook while Sarah opened a can of food for their tabby cat, Camelot. She sat on the kitchen floor, petting the fuzzy little beast as he ate and to keep Jess company as she made up a quick stir fry. Sarah was only half listening as Jess mused on ideas for their costumes, only responding when she spouted off something too ridiculous. Crayola crayons? They both may be artists, but that was pushing it.

Sarah set the dingy little table they had managed to cram into the already cramped kitchen while Jess served up dinner. Between mouthfuls of rice and chopsticks she discussed all the various shops she wanted to visit and the stalls that would be set up down the main street. Just hearing about it already had Sarah shuttering. It would be mayhem and Sarah was not one for crowds and chaos if she could help it. But Jessica seemed thrilled by their plans and she could not bear to dash her spirits by being a downer. Eventually they settled on a costume theme of casual Disney princesses, Jessica as Cinderella and Sarah as Belle, before cleaning up and heading off to bed. Or, in Sarah’s case, it was off to the nook in her room that served as her office of sorts. Camelot padded after her, hopping up on her bed to doze off on her comforter. With a bit of guilt, she noticed her desk had already gone from organized to organized chaos in the matter of days since Jess had her hands on it. She really ought to get more shelves and storage bins for her supplies, but for now she roughly knew where everything was. At least that was what she thought until she could not for the life of her find her watercolor paper.

“Dammit, I know I put it here,” Rifling through papers beneath rough copies, Sarah chewed her lower lip in frustration, “maybe it was a drawer…?”

The first drawer was nothing more than half-used watercolor palettes, their contents having sprayed now dried paint splatters along the wooden interior. Did she really need so many palettes? Probably not. Rummaging through the second drawer she decided it best to simply empty its contents of disorganized sketches and scrapped ideas. However, her lap proved an unstable space to drop the already unstable pile and the entire thing went down with a flutter and thud. Papers scattered every which way about her room, beneath her thrifted dresser and box spring bed, some even slipped into her closet.

“... _ Really?! _ ” Sarah hissed, only to have her growls of irritation cut short by a rap of knuckles behind her desk. She always forgot Jess’s headboard was right against that wall. “Sorry, Jess!”

With a sigh, she slowly began to gather her scattered papers about her room. Camelot watched her from the bed and she could have sworn there was a bemused look in his owlish eyes. Even the cat was laughing at her clumsiness. After a bit of scrambling about her bedroom floor, all that remained were the few pieces that slipped beneath the sliding doors of her closet. With a flick of the light switch she peeked inside. Sure enough a few weathered pieces of cheap watercolor paper were laying across the hardwood floor, their contents face down. Bending down, Sarah snatched the offending pieces from the ground, flipping them over to determine whether or not she should just toss the old sketches. But upon seeing the childish doodles that filled the sheets she paused, face falling to a stern mask as she studied the pages. With an almost tender touch, her fingers traced the depiction of an old dwarf accompanied by a gentle ginger troll and knightly canine mounting a sheep dog. Another was rather abstract, an attempt to mimic the illogical stairs of M.C. Escher. The last one, a masquerade…

“Nope!” She had enough of childish toys and costumes. Sarah Williams was an adult, with adult responsibilities and an adult workload begging to be finished at her desk. There was no time for fantasy outside her illustrations. With more strength than necessary, Sarah crumpled the paintings into a firm ball and tossed the trash over her shoulder. A feral hiss and the scampering of clawed feet replied to her unfortunately accurate throw. Camelot had not been the intended target, but now that the fuzzball had stormed out of her room in disgust she saw what he had been hiding. Who knew watercolor books were comfortable cat beds?

“You’re the devil, you know that, Cammy!” She called out to the feline down the hall, but her only reply was another irritated knuckle rap at her wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, none of the locations in this chapter are real, but the atmospheres are very much like shops I frequent. There's something about vintage salons and cozy cafes in New England that just makes the region so charming. That and the port towns.
> 
> Anyway, this is possibly the most self-indulgent (and uneventful) chapter in this fic, as in I gave Sarah a few qualities that I relate to. One I am particularly fond of is her pixie cut. I recently got one myself and let me tell you it is so liberating and fun (though a little chilly in the winter). But I've read so many fics that keep her long locks from the movie (which is totally fine and valid, don't get me wrong) and wanted to do something a bit different. I don't know about anyone else, but when I feel like life is getting dull or I'm stressed I tend to make big changes to my appearance. Particularly to my hair. Likewise for Sarah I wanted this change to be symbolic of her letting go of her childhood and freeing herself from how the Labyrinth still haunts her...or at least attempting to.
> 
> Also I visit Salem and its surrounding towns quite a bit myself, so I suppose that's a bit self-insert-y too. But, hey, if you've ever had the chance to visit, then you would know as I do that there is some kind of power and energy there. It's the perfect east coast location for Sarah where the veil between the mortal realm and the Fae is precariously thin. So please humor me despite it being so cliche, I promise this is about as indulgent as I will get.
> 
> Side note: I actually took the time to plot out every single chapter in this fic in hopes that I can stick with it and actually finish something for once. So now I know exactly where it's all going and, yeah, it's gonna be quite the ride. Including the prologue and epilogue it is currently twenty-five chapters long. But for now I am not going to set that as a fixed number just in case anything changes. Some chapters may be too short or long that I need to merge or break them down and I might have more scenes to add later. But I can safely say that this story will be at least twenty chapters, yay!


	3. A Matter of Succession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Language Translations:**  
>  _Agarwaen _Îg__  - Sindarin - Bloodstain Thorns
> 
>  _Nienor Nill_   _-_ Sindarin - Mourning Bells
> 
>  _Gelir govannon, hîr vuin. -_ Sindarin - Merry meet, my lord.
> 
>  _Tol telia na ammen. -_ Sindarin - Come play with us.
> 
>  _Dain, hon na lom._ \- Sindarin - Silence, he is weary.
> 
>  _Staui na ammen, hîr vuin._ \- Sindarin - Stay with us, my lord.
> 
>  _Sedh._ \- Sindarin - Rest.
> 
>  _Faen Ecthel_  - Sindarin -Radiant Spear
> 
>  _lellig_ \- Sindarin - my daughter
> 
>  _Ionneg_ \- Sindarin - my son
> 
>  _Ael -o Uireb Thú_ \- Sindarin - Lake (Bog) of Eternal Stench
> 
>  _honeg_ \- Sindarin - little brother

  _These woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep._ ” - Robert Frost 

* * *

 

_ Snap...crunch… _

The ground shuddered and groaned as the forest floor shifted. Ancient trees rustled their twisting branches; their bark cracking and splintering with exertion as great roots writhed through the leaf litter and soil. This task would be far more manageable were the earth not nearly frozen solid. But there was work to be done, thus there was no use complaining. There was always work to be done.

_ Crack...squelch… _

Crimson spattered across the dense layer of snow that blanketed the wood, melting the frost with fresh heat in abstract patterns. Neither ice nor stone could halt the tangle of roots as they burrowed deeper. The shear strength of the trees was enough to shatter all unfortunate enough to lay in their path, for that was their purpose. To ensnare, to crush and breakdown matter so that it might be used to feed the ravenous earth below. It was in this dark wood that death gave birth to new life. 

“I must admit it is rather impressive you made it this far in thirteen hours.”

A pair of mismatched eyes burned with an animalistic ferocity as they observed the forest complete its macabre work from the safety of a neary boulder. The early morning sun dappled light through the overhanging greenery while the Goblin King studied the scene with the astuteness of a scholar. Rather than shudder at the grizzly sight or avert his gaze, he found the display fascinating. 

“To think you would even make it through the  _ Agarwaen Îg _ ...only to succumb to the  _ Nienor Nill _ . Such a pity.”

Bending his lithe frame with the grace of a feline, the king plucked a single silver blossom from where it grew by the base of his stone throne. The translucent, slender stem of the flower distorted his gloved fingers as he brought its curvaceous bloom to his nose. A unique blend of lavender and rosemary delighted his senses and within the bulbous metallic petals crystalline stamen faintly chimed like miniature bells. The  _ Mourning Bells _ , as they were aptly named, were as deadly as they were beautiful. Their enchanting sound and soothing scent lured in the weak-minded, sinking them into a deep, dreamless sleep with little hope of waking. After that, if the frostbite did not claim the poor soul first, the forest would crush their unconscious bodies to mulch. For a Fae as powerful as himself the flower’s effects were almost nonexistent, but for a mortal, well…

_ Creak...splish… _

The monarch cast the blossom upon the unidentifiable heap of flesh, blood, and bone ground beneath the roots and intermingling with the upturned earth. If he looked closely he could still make out a stray tooth that had evaded the root firmly severing her jaw from its joints. Ebony strands of hair still clung to where they were twined around low lying branches. Then there were her eyes, their verdant hue now clouded and dulled with death, which were miraculously intact within what remained of her skull. The lifeless orbs gazed off into the forests depths, coincidentally in the direction he knew his castle to be. 

“So close, and yet so far…”

With an apathetic shrug of his lean shoulders, the King gracefully hopped down from his makeshift seat as the wood slowly stilled and grew silent. All but the faint rustle of the leaves above could be heard as he silently walked over to the mutilated body for a better look, his steps unnaturally soundless as they fell atop the snow. He crouched low beside what used to be human, careful not to let any carnage tarnish his person. 

_ You’re an animal, a monster. How could you…? _

A small voice wept in the back of his mind, strikingly familiar in its juvenile cadence. But her words had little effect upon his mood; morals long since discarded or frozen over. He felt nothing, not the chill of the frostcovered forest or shame for the slaughter he willingly orchestrated. Unfeeling, empty, just as those foolish mortal tales enjoyed painting his people. She could call him a monster, a demon even, and who would he be to deny it before this scene?

_ Those eyes... _

With a snarl he sprang to his feet and kicked a blend of soil and snow over their unblinking gaze. They were too similar and he hated this woman all the more for it. She had been a single mother, struggling to provide a life for her only child, but foolish all the same. The  _ right words _ held true for all but one. They were a binding contract which forced her to run his twisted maze or forfeit her child outright. She had begged, of course, pleaded for mercy that she might have the babe returned without having run the Labyrinth. But the Goblin King was bound by her imprudent wish just as she, and so she ran.

“And so another failed.”

The words were bitter and stung his own tongue as he surveyed the blood pooling at the base of a mighty oak tree. His eyes trailed up the broad trunk as the various cracks within the bark began to glow. It was dull at first, a mere sparkle which quickly grew to rays of sunlight accompanied with tittering laughter. All around him trees began to leak gentle beams of golden light, filling the forest with bemused giggles and the aroma of spring. No mortal could comprehend the form of a dryad, their feminine figures blinding condensed light and magick. But the Goblin King was far from human.

“ _ Gelir govannon, hîr vuin.” _ An ethereal voice, somewhat breathless, whispered by his ear. The tree spirits greeted their king, dancing about his person without stirring the snow below. They laughed and hummed as their fingers trailed feather-light across his black silken shirt or tousled his unruly ashen hair. It was a challenge even for him to remain stubbornly out of sorts when surrounded with such intoxicating beauty. 

“Merry morning to you as well, my dears.” The dryads seemed to swoon at his words, their shining auras tinged pink. Though they were somewhat ditzy, their interests trivial and all together vapid, he did find their company amusing at times, if not pleasurable. One such dryad was wickedly pushing her boundaries as her fingers trailed along the bare skin revealed by his open shirt. Meanwhile another younger spirit pulled at his hand, her touch causing an electrifying heat up his arm.

“ _ Tol telia na ammen. _ ” She pleaded with another tug, her airy voice not yet reaching the sultry tones of her sisters. But her actions were quickly shooed away by the eldest sister who resided in the oak which coveted the crushed remains of the latest challenger. 

“ _ Dain, hon na lom. _ ” The dryad admonished her junior as she wrapped her glistening arms around his neck. Her blinding figure now filled his gaze and the king could not restrain a small smirk as he admired her undeniable radiance. Damn these vixens and their allure. The dryads would deny any mortal the privilege of their company, yet they would happily lay down for him even if he did not ask. For the Goblin King was more than deserving of their affections as he continued to safeguard their freedom.

_ “Staui na ammen, hîr vuin.”  _ She breathed across his lips. Pressing herself against the length of his body, he could feel the gentle thrum of her magick and solidity of her figure which was otherwise obscured by light. “ _ Sedh. _ ”

“How very tempting,” The king hummed as his lips burned with her heated kiss. Somehow her idea of “rest” was far from the typical definition as she slipped her tingling tongue past his lips. It pained him to break her affections, Goddess knows he could use the distraction. “Unfortunately I have urgent matters to attend to at the castle.”

There was a unanimous whine of disappointment from the tree spirits, their lights dimming as they withdrew from his person. His body craved to usher their burning touch back to him and continue their sweet ministrations, but, no, there was work to be done. Always, there was work to be done.

“Another time, my dears. I shall return for your company.” The monarch gave them a dashing, lopsided grin that exposed a fair few pointed teeth. For a brief moment his otherwise apathetic gaze regained its former mischievous glint. Though they were still reluctant, the dryads murmured an agreement and giggled as they returned to their respective trees. Without their dazzling glow about him the forest seemed somewhat dim for the morning and unsettlingly quiet. He already missed their company. 

“Duty calls.” The words were more of a sigh of resignation as he tidied his disheveled attire, then vanished in a icy gust.

 

“Thudrac!” There was a collective shudder among the goblins lingering in the castle’s throne room brought about by their ruler’s sudden appearance. But upon detecting the lingering scent of spring that accompanied the chilling breeze of his entrance they breathed a collective sigh of relief. Perhaps a gift of egg shells for fertilizer to the dryads was in order. It was clear by the Fae’s somewhat relaxed posture that the tree spirits had eased his ever present tension, at least enough so that boggings would not be on the day’s agenda. With their king’s temperament appeased, his unsavory subjects were able to go about their business of clearing stray chicken feathers and entertaining the cooing babe that laid within the cushioned recess at the heart of the room. It was the goblins’ task to appease the babe while their guardian ran the Labyrinth, but as the thirteen hours were up with no mother in sight it would be left to dwarves to deliver the infant to the next Fae family in need of a child. At the Goblin King’s beckon one such dwarf bustled through the throne room doors in a timely manner despite his old age. Dressed in heavy woolen robes of brilliant jewel tones, his clean and put together appearance demanded respect. Even his lengthy gray hair was woven neatly into a braid beneath his leather cap and his equally long beard was similarly tamed. Thudrac was the chief of staff within the Goblin Kingdom. A well respected and rumored ancient dwarf, he had been managing the castle since the first Goblin King’s reign. It was also well known that he was one of the few capable of quelling the king’s rage within the Underground. 

“I see you have returned, sire.” The elderly dwarf weaved his way past the goblins scampering about the stone floors, a subtle look of disdain creasing his weathered face at their lack of restraint. He was certain the first King, Goddess guide his soul, would not stand for such disorderly conduct.

“Indeed.” Pausing in his pacing of the dais, the Fae king gestured vaguely to the infant resting feet from his throne. “As expected, the challenger has failed once more. See to it the babe is left in the proper care of those awaiting a child.”

“Of course, your majesty, but if I may-” Thudrac’s hoarse baritone was cut short by a raised hand.

“Also, I need a meeting arranged with the drakes to discuss the bonfire arrangements for the Samhain Rites.” The king continued to walk the length of the dais as he began to list tasks off on leather-clad fingers.

“Certainly, however, sire-” But once more Thudrac’s words fell on deaf ears. It was beginning to annoy the poor dwarf whose bushy brows now furrowed low over his eyes. 

“And do advise the brownies to cease their incessant rearrangement of my desk within my study. If they cannot decide between alphabetical, numerical, or order of urgency in my paperwork, then they should not rifle through the documents to begin with-”

“ _ Sire. _ ” Silence fell in the hall. Even the goblins stilled their endless skittering and rummaging to set their sights on the king, their hideous features contorted with surprise and no small amount of fear. Few souls dared to interrupt the Goblin King, no matter the state of his mood. However the dwarf stood his ground, fists balled up in his wool robes as he fixed the king with hard gaze. 

“Thudrac,” The king stilled his steps, his tone tinged with biting sarcasm and underlying threat, “how rude of me, were you attempting to tell me something? I imagine it was a matter of  _ great importance  _ for you to see fit to interrupt me.”

Thudrac did not so much as flinch as the Goblin King set his mismatched eyes upon him with a positively chilling stare. The audience of goblins observing the rising tension began to make bets on whether it would be an oubliette for the old dwarf or straight to the Bog in hushed voices. However, Thudrac was assured in his favor with the king and had little doubt that his temper would be soothed or at least redirected when he heard what news he had to share. Clearing his throat, the dwarf smoothed out his robes and stood calmly before his monarch.

“You have guests, sire, ambassadors from  _ Faen Ecthel _ . They await your presence within the cabinet of the east wing.”

An unnerving chill settled within the throne room, disregarding the numerous fires the staff worked to maintain within the castle to keep the temperature tolerable. It was evident the king was far from pleased with the unexpected arrival of Seelie Fae in his territory. His fair lips pursed as his jaw clenched to contain his steadily rising irritation. The day had begun relatively pleasant, all things considered, but naturally the Light Fae had to come and spoil it all. 

“Just what in Danu’s name do those passive aggressive pricks want with me now?” He hissed between his fanged teeth while he stormed off the stone dais to the throne room’s main doors. Thudrac gathered his robes by his feet in order to keep up with his king’s purposeful gait.

“I am afraid they would not say, my lord. Merely that they requested to discuss a matter of apparent urgency with you immediately.” 

“Of course they wouldn’t, because they simply expect me to be at their beck and call.” With a snap of his fingers a blistering torrent of wind ravaged the throne room, sending goblins and feathers flying. With an ear-ringing bang the doors were forced open by the gale, allowing the king and his advisor to pass be before slamming shut in their wake. In the hall the gust continued to whip about the Goblin King in a blur as his clothing shifted to something he deemed more suitable for his guests. They were hardly worthy of his full regalia, but he did desire to come across as somewhat imposing. Gone was his black silken shirt and deep vermillion waistcoat only to be replaced with a lace trimmed charcoal dress shirt beneath a dragon hide overcoat. The scaled material shone in brilliant iridescence by the warm glow of the sconces that lined the castle halls. An Elizabethan-like collar of slender bone cast sharp shadows over the king’s already harshly defined features. The waist was cinched with an ornate silver clasp that was similar to his pendant, which remained visible against his partially exposed chest. His breeches lingered, though the form fitting material was now a deep black that slimmed his already willowy legs. To finish the semi-formal look was a pair of knee high, black leather boots which came to a startling point at the toe and his signature gloves to match. Thudrac eyed him surreptitiously, his king’s constant need for dramatics never ceasing to amaze him.

“Come now, Thudrac, mustn't keep our guests waiting,” The king growled as traversed down the corridor to the east wing, “no matter how undesirable their company may be.” 

 

With the Goblin King’s long strides it was only a matter of minutes before he arrived at the east wing’s cabinet doors. He could have just as easily magicked his way to the room in an instant, but the longer he could ward off the inevitable meeting, the better.

“Five minutes. That is all I am giving them.” The king bantered over his shoulder to the dwarf trailing behind him, somewhat out of breath from attempting to keep up. Thudrac could only sigh in exasperation as he opted to wait outside the meeting.

With a flourish the ornate wooden doors to the cabinet were opened and the Goblin King marched in to face his distasteful company. The room was eclectically decorated with book shelves, as well as various bits and baubles gifted to him by his subjects on any available flat surface. Courtless Faeries were known to frequent the mortal world more often than those of the other courts, though the king had restricted such interactions as of late. But in their numerous visits, the inhabitants of the Goblin Kingdom enjoyed bringing their leader small trinkets from the Aboveground in appreciation for his continued protection. Decorating the walls were various fine tapestries depicting conquests of the previous Goblin King and set into the far wall was a great stone fireplace. The hardwood floor was covered in a fur pelt that evidently came from a rather large beast for it was able to contain two fine leather couches and coffee table between them on its plush surface. But, in the Goblin King’s opinion, the comfortable charm of the parlor was now tainted by the presence of no less than three Seelie Fae. Two were adorned in the royal armor of the Summer Court, their extravagant golden suits glinted in the firelight to accent the detailed designs of ivy that decorated each piece. While they sat on one couch, the opposing furniture was taken up solely by one strikingly fair Fae. His hair flowed about his person like spun gold, the sides gracefully pulled back in delicate braids held together with a jeweled hair fork. Though his eyes were closed, there was a distinct awareness about him as though he could already predict the volatile company he now had to cope with. The monarch recognized him in an instant by his stern features as he sipped from a cup of tea with a look of mild discomfort, his back rigid.

_ Like the stick no doubt shoved up his arse. _

“Well if it isn’t King Finvarra’s loyal lapdog, Ambassador Kieran.” The Goblin King greeted his guests with a sour look as they stood to meet him, “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“ _ Gelir govannon, _ Jareth, Successor of Lugh, Lord of the Labyrinth, Ruler of the Courtless, and Goblin King.” Kieran set his tea aside and gave a stiff bow to his host, clearly out of formality rather than legitimate respect. The king waved the gesture away with a roll of his eyes.

“Enough with the pleasantries, you know I detest them so.” Jareth made his way into the room, though did not move to sit and neither did his guests. The guards remained silent and no doubt on edge as if they expected him to snap like a rabid cur. “What brings you to my kingdom unannounced?”

“It is a matter of utmost importance.” Kieran’s words were leveled and almost slow, as how one might talk to a child. It took an incredible amount of self control for the monarch to not snap at such subtle insult.

“Yes, I presumed so if it managed to drag you onto the the land that I recall you referring to as a, what was it?” He paused to tap a gloved finger in mock wonder upon his jaw, “A Goddess forsaken wasteland of primitive debauchery? During the last Yuletide if I am not mistaken.” 

“By the Seelie King’s orders I am here to escort you to  _ Faen Ecthel _ . His majesty has requested your presence immediately.” Disregarding the accusation, Kieran folded his arms into the sleeves of his pristine white robes. The ornate silver leaves that detailed the hem shone brightly with the movement. “Rest assured I derive little pleasure in this arduous task. But it is my royal duty as ambassador to King Finvarra that I see to your safe and timely arrival.”

“You mean to see to it that I do not simply blow off his ostentatious request.” Jareth arched a brow, reading the Light Fae like a children’s book.

“To put it crudely, yes.” A pretentious smirk graced Kieran’s thin lips, “It would not be the first time you shirked the King’s summons.”

Jareth gave an undignified snort, the ambassador had him there. 

“Well, if that’s the case, then you can tell His Royal Highness that I am terribly busy with matters of my own to attend to.” With a shrug, the Goblin King turned his back to his guests and made for the doors once more, “If he has matters to discuss, then he can make an appointment with Thudrac. I am not his pet to be summoned when it suits him.”

He was steps away from freedom when a slender hand saw fit to claim his forearm in a vice grip. Kieran stood beside him now, halting his escape with a steely gaze. Jareth glowered in turn before wrenching himself from the ambassador’s hold.

“I am afraid that is not an option, Goblin King.” Kieran held up his hands to placate the king’s temper before slipping them back within his sleeves. An arched golden brow hardened his condescending look before continuing, “The King has requested that we remain here until you agree to meet with him at  _ Faen Ecthel.” _

“Ah, so he seeks to drive me mad with your company in order to coerce me into paying him a visit?” Jareth ran his fingers through his wild locks. The Seelie King really was backing him into a corner.

“He also said you would whine something along those lines.” Kieran truly was an insufferable Fae.

“Well, if that is the case, then I suppose I have no choice, now do I? But you three,” He jabbed a finger into the ambassador’s chest to make his point apparent, “can escort yourselves. I will see myself to  _ Faen Ecthel.” _

Turning on his heels, Jareth vanished in another chilling gale leaving Kieran to bitterly regret his job position.

 

The Seelie Kingdom resided just south of the Goblin Kingdom, but unlike the usually arid climate of the Courtless lands the territory of the Light Fae was perpetually lush and thriving. It never grew cold and frost did not dare touch so much as a single petal within the land. There was a reason the Seelie Court also went by the names of Spring or Summer Court. Winter and Autumn were the domain of the Unseelie and had no place in their kingdom. It was, in a word, perfect and the Goblin King found it revolting. One could compare it to the cookie cutter suburbs found Aboveground with its immaculately kept gardens and the subtle feeling of constantly being spied upon. Every faerie that inhabited the Seelie Court was gracious and benevolent, at least at first glance. They were a spiteful bunch beneath the false pretense and were more than capable of being every bit as vicious as their dark brethren to the north. In some ways Jareth almost preferred the Unseelie Court as they were honest about their malevolent nature, though he more or less despised them both equally. 

Further evidence of the Seelie Court’s egotism could be seen in the extravagant architecture of   _ Faen Ecthel _ , the Radiant Spear, which was the Seelie castle. Hewn from white marble, the monstrosity towered above all with numerous spires and arches from where it sat upon a cliff overlooking the Asrai Sea. Inland, the terrain was covered in vibrant gardens and dense forests teeming with life. If one were to traverse the paths they would come across numerous marble figures and fountains of various Seelie royals, their visages depicted in unsettling detail. Similarly stained glass filled various windows about the castle to display the many triumphs of their people and notable Seelie Fae heroes. It was a sickening display of arrogance that even Jareth dare not sink to, or at least not so boldly. 

The Goblin King now found himself smack in the middle of the interior courtyard of  _ Faen Ecthel _ , his grand entrance drawing gasps from the mingling staff and frosting over a nearby rosebush. But intuition of his magick told him that the King was nearby and, sure enough, the Seelie Fae lounged beneath an ornate gazebo of white birch branches. Though far older than Jareth, his features were hardly tarnished with age. The only indication of his years were the stray silver strands that intermingled with his long, ashen hair which trailed smoothly down his back. He seemed completely absorbed in an ancient tome that was gingerly perched upon his lap. Layers of fine fabrics which made his robe pooled about his lithe figure, their colors ranging in varying pastel hues with intricate silver designs. Beneath the shade of a nearby willow tree a Fae musician plucked at a silver harp from where she sat upon the verdant grass, the dulcet tones drifting lazily through the balmy air. Jareth found himself longing for the chaos of his goblin subjects, which was a rare desire indeed.

“You sent your lapdog to nip at my heels. If you are not at death’s door, old man, then I see little need for such measures.” Finvarra, the Seelie King, merely chuckled at the Courtless Fae’s impudence. He read a few more lines of his book while he let the king stew in his annoyance before setting the tome aside and standing to greet his guest.

“ _ Gelir govannon _ , Goblin King.” His arms parted as if to welcome Jareth into a warm embrace, “Please, have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.” Jareth deadpanned, unaffected by the Seelie King’s attempt at hospitality. But Finvarra merely shrugged his slender shoulder before stepping out from the gazebo. His bare feet silently trailed across the grass as he neared his company.

“A stroll through the garden then, perhaps?” His voice held saccharine sweetness as he smiled fondly at the Goblin King, “The heather is blooming quite beautifully now.”

“I am afraid I do not have the time to linger.” The Goblin King snapped, one hand resting upon his hip to convey his vexation with the Seelie Fae’s insisted frivolity.

“Whatever is the rush? We can all benefit from a walk through nature from time to time.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Finvarra wandered towards the archway that led to the expansive garden, “And I am sure your kingdom would appreciate the chance to thaw in your absence.”

Without much choice, Jareth trailed behind him into the garden. Vast beds of flowers, ranging from those found in the mortal realm and others distinctly Fae, colored the land and intoxicated the air with their sickeningly sweet aroma. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, a headache already beginning to settle in his skull.

“That is beside the point,” Stalking behind the Seelie King like a disgruntled cat, Jareth swiped at an offending hollyhock stem that drooped in his path. “What did you summon me for that could not be conveyed in a letter?”

Finvarra paused in his ambling of the garden path to cast an almost doleful glance to his companion.

“Is it so unusual that I would like to spend time with you, Jareth?”

The Goblin King only scoffed and crossed his arms with a mocking glint to his mismatched eyes.

“Careful, old man, the staff might gossip that we are related if you speak so casually.” His words dripped with sarcasm that caused even the Seelie King to be taken aback. It was no small rumor that Jareth was the product of a tryst between King Finvarra and the Unseelie Queen, Boanna. In typical Fae fashion, Finvarra was a romantic and more than a little lustful in his youth. Jareth imagined the elder Fae got quite a thrill out of hooking up with his sworn enemy. Little did he know at the time he would come to regret their rendezvous when she gave birth to his bastard son. 

“You are resentful of me, I know-”

“That is quite the understatement.” Jareth spat in retort, not even attempting to restrain his unadulterated spite. If his father had been capable of controlling his desires, then he might not have nearly the entire Underground holding him in such contempt. One is not meant to exist between two worlds; nothing good can come of the Seelie and Unseelie crossing paths.

“I would like to set our differences aside.” The Seelie King continued as if his son had not interrupted. Turning, he reclaimed his leisurely stroll through the garden, “There is a celebration nearly upon us and I wish for you to attend.” 

“You say that like this is dust to be brushed under the rug.” Quickening his pace, Jareth matched Finvarra’s stride until they were shoulder to shoulder.

“Hardly. I merely wish to focus on more urgent matters, such as Aynia’s coronation.” That caused Jareth to pause, falling behind his father in mild surprise.

“Aynia is taking the throne?” His half-sister was not much younger than him in years, but he expected her ascension to be at least a few more centuries off.

“Indeed. It will be a grand celebration which I would like for you to attend.” Finvarra mused as he rounded a corner of towering rose bushes that arched across a trellis. They entered a field of untamed wildflowers and at its heart sat the Seelie Princess, Aynia. Pixies fluttered about her, weaving small blooms into her flax hair while she worked on a pair of flower crowns upon her lap. At the field’s perimeter guards stood rigid in the afternoon sun, ever watchful for the young royal’s protection. 

“She has grown quite fair, would you not say?” With a knowing smile upon his lips, Finvarra watched Jareth study her from afar, “It’s been some time since you have been together.”

Jareth cast his gaze back to the Seelie King, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I find your smirk unsettling. What are you plotting?” But Finvarra only chuckled softly in reply.

“ _ Lellig _ !” He called toAynia, beckoning her over. The young woman, whose face was previously obscured with sheets of golden tresses glanced up at his summons. Her crystalline blue eyes brimmed with playful curiosity, the picturesque Seelie Fae. At the sight of her father and his guest she grinned and hurried to her feet. With dainty hands she brushed stray petals from her gossamer, periwinkle dress before all but skipping over to them, flower crowns in hand.

“Father!” She chimed, voice as soft as downy feathers. Rising up on her bare toes she kissed his cheek before placing a crown of wildflowers upon his head. With a nauseatingly warm smile that seemed to radiate innocence she turned to the Goblin King. Jareth inwardly cringed and tried not to dwell on how he willingly let a mortal die in his realm not hours before arriving in  _ Faen Ecthel.  _ Her purity only heightened his awareness of the blood that stained his hands.

“ _ Hîr vuin,  _ Jareth. It is wonderful to see you once more. You look...well.” The Goblin King nearly outright laughed at her hesitation, well aware that over half a century of rage and winter left him looking beastly, untamed. She was flawless in every way, like a tender lamb before a wild wolf. Yet still she stood before him and reached up to place her second crown upon his unruly ashen locks.

“Princess Aynia.” Was all he managed to say with a slight incline of his head, lest he retch from the pure display of affection. 

“Not for much longer. You will be attending my coronation, yes?” Despite his cold greeting and blatant avoidance of her question, she continued to smile up at him with intrigue. Her eyes all but pleaded with him to give into her whims. It was in that moment that Finvarra saw fit to place his daughter’s hand in his. She clung to his gloved fingers like a thorny vine, refusing to relinquish her hold even as he flinched back to glare at the Seelie King. It was grossly apparent what he was not-so-subtly attempting to do.

“Your gift is…” Jareth cast a glance up to the crown upon his head, its weight pushing his wispy bangs further into his eyes, “flattering, Lady Aynia. But I have some matters to discuss with King Finvarra, so if you will excuse us.”

He pried her fingers from him with his free hand before gripping his father’s shoulder and directing him out of the field. Aynia’s gaze lingered after him like a lost puppy. But Once they were out of earshot, the Goblin King rounded upon the elder Fae.

“Out with it, old man!” He griped. Finvarra averted his gaze to preoccupy himself with inspecting a nearby crop of heather, their delicate white blossoms swaying in the gentle breeze. 

“Do you consider yourself a matchmaker? Was that the true purpose of this visit?” Jareth pushed further, unable to mask the slight sting of betrayal beneath his harsh tone. It was not that the Goblin King had hopes of reconciling his relationship with his father, that he was quite sure to be impossible. But perhaps there had been some wishful thinking on his part. What if the Seelie King’s summon was out of genuine concern for his well-being and not to pursue some secret agenda? Clearly he was foolish to think otherwise. It was the nature of the Seelie Fae to be self-absorbed and deceiving.

“The true purpose of this visit, Jareth...” As Finvarra straightened to meet his son’s penetrating glare he rose with the full might of a Fae king. His features were rigid in a fixed state of apathy, eyes critical as if looking upon a spoiled child. “Was to present to you an opportunity, one that you are so foolishly blind to. With several centuries serving your position as Goblin King I thought you would grow wiser, but it is clear you are still just an ignorant child.”

An almost inhuman growl escaped Jareth’s clenched jaws, unaccustomed to such insults. There were few foolish enough to confront the Goblin King, and even fewer still that would chastise him so. Unfortunately, Finvarra was one of those few and he knew damn well there was not a thing his son could do about it. 

“You only prove my point when you behave in such an irrational manner.” The elder Fae arched a brow as he gestured to the air around Jareth now sparking with magick as frost licked the cobblestones beneath his feet.

“And you try my patience, old man.” He hissed, “You seek to arrange Aynia to marry me, that much is clear, but why? To unite our kingdoms? Bring the Courtless Faeries under your control? Or are you simply not satisfied with the entire southern coast as your territory?”

Finvarra did not even falter as his son closed the distance between them to make his point, even as the frost crept up his bare feet.

“Yes, well, those reasons are all well and good, but I do also care for you.” The Seelie King replied with a roll of his eyes and brushed past his son to appraise more flowers further down the path. Paper thin ice crackled beneath the slight weight of his steps; all the while Jareth’s gaze remained trained on him like a hawk. Or perhaps an owl would be more appropriate.

“Why do I find that incredibly difficult to believe?” The Goblin King remained at a decent distance, the little that remained of his self-control begged him to hang back so that he might not be tempted to do anything incredibly foolish. An eternity in prison for assaulting the Seelie King would not suit him.

“I admit to not having been the best father to you, but I never ceased in my efforts to secure your well-being.” Finvarra spoke more to the bulbous dahlia blossoms than to his son, “Your very existence could have resulted in war, thus I placed you in the best possible, neutral care. I ensured your future as a leader and gave you the position you now hold so dearly. Is that not generous?”

A shadow seemed to pass across the Goblin King’s chiseled countenance as disturbingly familiar words were thrown back in his face.

_ Generous…? What have you done that’s generous? _

“So you expect me to grovel at your feet then?” His voice was distant, unsettlingly tame as _her_ _voice_ echoed in his head. If Finvarra noticed the change, then he made no acknowledgement. 

“No. I expect you to act like the king you claim to be and consider the state of your kingdom, of your people.” Turning back to his son, Finvarra clasped his hands once more as he made an effort to handle the situation in a more diplomatic manner. “Consider how a union with the Seelie Court could benefit them.”

Jareth stilled, his gaze drifting as he recollected the condition of the Goblin Kingdom for the last fifty years. It was an icy shell of its former self and reeked of death. But did he actually have any say in the matter? The Labyrinth was an entity of its own and it had already chosen its Champion. If anything was to hold blame for the current state of his kingdom, it was the damn maze itself.

“Aynia is unfit to be Goblin Queen. If the wild nature of the Courtless Faeries do not crush her spirit, then the Labyrinth itself will. There is no one capable of fulfilling the position and surviving.”

“No one...except your mortal Champion.”

Silence settled like a fog between them, one that left Jareth mentally choking as his thoughts spun at the mere mention of  _ her _ . No one had dared to bring up the events of fifty years prior since that day until now. A toxic cocktail of emotions flooded his system leaving him lightheaded and his thoughts buzzing like white noise. 

“...do not bring up that  _ child _ to  _ me _ .” His words were dangerously quiet, hardly more than a whisper as his eyes fixed to the cobblestone path at his boots. Finvarra paid little mind to his sudden shift in mood.

“A child, my son, she is no longer.” A devious smirk played at the Seelie King’s lips for he knew he was prodding at a chink in his son’s armor. “Have you seen her? Thirteen years in the mortal realm has quite the effect on those humans.”

With slow steps he began to circle Jareth as a cat might its prey. The Goblin King stood rigid, gaze downcast as he attempted to grasp the shambles of his restraints.

“She is a woman now and quite the sight.” Pausing just by Jareth’s pointed ear he hissed, “And she’s written you off as nothing more than a dream, can you imagine?”

The Goblin King stumbled back until his back collided with a hedge of roses. Their vicious thorns prodded painfully at the exposed skin of head and neck from where they slipped past his bone collar. But their biting pain was fleeting in comparison to the festering wound on his soul that his father seemed so keen to dig his words into. Judging from the grin on the elder monarch’s disgustingly beautiful face he was well aware of the torment he was inducing. 

“She could never forget about  _ me _ .” Jareth breathed, warily eyeing his father, “And the Labyrinth will  _ never _ forget her. So...just stay away from matters that do not concern you.”

It was a promise and a curse, dooming them both to haunt each other until one breathes their last breath. Such was the way of the Labyrinth, binding their fates with little consideration beyond its own selfish desires. 

“But this does concern me if you are to let your kingdom rot over her memory. Perhaps if you could simply let her go and move on-”

“Do you not see that I can’t?!” There was a desperation to Jareth’s words as if he had been trying and failing to do just that for the last fifty years. His fists curled with frustration, leather creaking from the strain. “The Labyrinth has her ingrained in its very workings and I am powerless to control its whims.”

Rather than feel an ounce of sympathy to his son’s plight, Finvarra only shook his head in disappointment.

“For the supposed lord of this labyrinth you let the entity rule you. Perhaps I should have made it Goblin King in your stead and left you to the mercy of the Courtless Faeries.”

“ _ Enough _ .” Jareth straightened, brushing away the stray rose petals that clung to the scales of his overcoat. “I will entertain your sadistic banter no longer.” 

The wind around the garden began to howl as he prepared to return to the Goblin Kingdom, but not before Finvarra could catch his shoulder in a steely grip, his bony fingers curling into the hide of his coat like talons.

“You will attend the coronation,  _ Ionneg, _ or I will take it as an insult and respond accordingly.” The threat was evident in his words. The Seelie King would not hesitate to wipe out the Courtless Faeries if his spawn were to embarrass him so, blood be damned.

“ _ I am not your son, old man _ ,” Jareth snarled, jerking his shoulder free from its restraint as the wind swept him away in an icy blast. All that remained were his lingering words, like a waking dream.

“I am the Goblin King. Remember that.”

All around Finvarra his once lively spring garden was encased in a substantial layer of frost and snow.

 

“The next poor soul who so much as  _ breathes _ too loudly will be dropped directly into the  _ Ael -o Uireb Thú  _ before they can even consider the meaning of mercy.”

Goblins were never a particularly quiet faerie, but when threatened with the Goblin King’s wrath they became still as statues. Not one of the mangy beasts so much as blinked as their ruler’s threat reverberated off the walls of the throne room before he had even fully appeared. But his sheer fury was evident as it almost rolled off his person like sheets of ice. Any goblin within a ten foot radius of where he stalked upon the dais was frozen to the floor, if not completely solid for those who lingered too close. Still, not a single goblin made even the slightest peep. All was painfully silent within the castle.

“Your M-majesty!” The great double doors were shoved open with a surprising display of strength from the chief of staff. Gasping for breath, the elderly dwarf did not even take the frosted state of the throne room into account, having rushed through the castle at the first word of the King’s return. “There...there seems to be a, well, a situation of sorts.”

“Of course, Thudrac, what is another woe to add to my pathetic story?” Jareth threw up his gloved hands in exasperation, almost begging for Danu to just strike him down and put him out of his misery. But no great bolt of lightning showed him mercy by zapping him to dust, leaving him to deal with whatever problem now plagued his kingdom. “Out with it! What disaster has befallen us now?”

“I-It is…” Thudrac wheezed, gripping the door frame as he attempted to catch his breath. “Your...it is your study-”

“My  _ what?!” _ The Goblin King roared, not wasting another moment at the knowledge that some havoc was being wrecked upon his private quarters. In a torrent of wind and hail that battered the throne room and its inhabitants, the monarch disappeared to confront the situation. Having left in such a rush he did not hear Thudrac begging him to wait so that he might explain exactly what awaited him.

With another mighty blast, Jareth appeared before the doors of his study. His face was a twisted mask of rage as the gale knocked the doors wide to chip the stone walls behind them. Frost crept upon every nearby surface, chilled by his fury. 

“I sincerely hope you enjoy the delightful aroma of  _ death _ because the reward for your audacity is-”

“Well, well, well, someone is a bit testy today, hm?” Jareth froze as his rage-fueled mind slowly registered the deep drawl that met his subtly pointed ears. There, lounging about as though he owned the very castle around him, was easily the last soul Jareth wanted to see in this realm of existence. Shock and inconceivable wrath stilled his tongue, the muscle unusually slack behind his clenched teeth.

“Though I must say I am rather fond of what you’ve done with the place. Very  _ Unseelie _ of you.” The intruder continued from where he was sprawled across his desk chair, one leg slung over the armrest. He cradled his ghastly pale cheek upon a gloved hand, mismatched eyes studying a stupified Goblin King.

“Well,  _ honeg _ ,” And there was that all too familiar, haunting grin, nothing but fang and malice. “did you miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached over 100 hits aaahhhh! Thank you all for taking the time to check out this ridiculous fic, I greatly appreciate it and hope you stick around for more. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
> 
> So, I know that there is a graphic novel or two written by Brian Froud that actually does talk about Jareth's origins. I haven't read them myself, thus I am not having them influence my story. I want Jareth to have his origins in fae folklore and connections to the Seelie and Unseelie courts, all of which I will be going into in further detail later. But this fic is purely based off of the original Labyrinth movie and that's it.
> 
> Also, about the implications of marrying within one's bloodline...it's a royal thing. I think the tags for this fic alone are enough to say it isn't going to happen. There will be no incest, rest assured, but that doesn't mean Aynia isn't going to try.
> 
> Fun Fact: All of the major Fae characters (aside from the ones originating from Labyrinth, of course, and Kieran because he’s a prick) have names of actual Tuatha de Danann from folklore. They are considered the predecessors to the Fae, so I wanted to place them as monarchs over the respective courts.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by my passion for Labyrinth and the traditional Faerie folklore woven intricately within the cult classic. I have had the pleasure to enjoy numerous fanfics that also touch upon the Fae side of Labyrinth and have been in turn inspired by them as well to create my own. Sadly, I cannot claim to be a professional in the field of folklore, but in my free time I do enjoy studying what I can about the Fair Folk from what I can find online and in print. That being said, if any reader more versed in the field has advice or constructive criticism on the subject of the Fae that they would like to see touched upon in the story, do feel free to leave a comment. I am always eager to learn more about Faeries and want to incorporate as much traditional folklore as I can within my writing. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Comment, kudo, and look forward to the next chapter.


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